Running Against the Wind
by deanstheman
Summary: Set about 2/3 through season 7. Dean has given up almost completely and is just going through the motions. Sam knows his brother needs something to hope for and soon. Now, a trip deep into Louisiana swampland might just give the broken hunter what he needs to keep going... hope.
1. Chapter 1 Sam

**RUNNING AGAINST THE WIND**

**Summary**: Dean has given up completely and is just going through the motions for Sam's sake. Sam knows his brother needs something to hope for – and needs it soon. Turns out a visit to a strange witch deep in the swamps of Louisiana just might give the broken hunter what he needs to keep going.

**Possible spoilers for EVERYTHING in season 7. **

_**Author's note**__: This was posted as a one-shot but I kept adding to it so it's now 3 chapters instead. Each chapter has its own feel though, since it wasn't originally written as one fluid story. It was written partway through season 7 so the boys didn't know for sure Bobby was a ghost yet._

_**1**__**st**__** Chapter:**__ Sam's perspective, kind of dark and angsty but with an underlying ray of hope, I think._

_**2**__**nd**__** Chapter**__: Bobby and an OC's perspectives of the day before, more light adventure and ghost antics._

_**3**__**rd**__** Chapter**__: Dean's perspective of the day after, an entire hunt in one chapter with a little romance thrown in._

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

Sam was growing more and more worried about Dean's obsession with Dick Roman. Revenge had always been John's thing, and then Sam's thing, but never Dean's. His brother's every waking hour was now spent glued to his laptop or on the phone to Frank, a man Sam was sure was just one tinfoil-wrapped hat from the nuthouse.

Now Dean's obsessive mission to kill Dick Roman had them making their way deep in the swamps of Louisiana in a cheap, rented motorboat with a swarm of mosquitoes following their every twist and turn. They were on their way to the house of a witch, of all things, who could supposedly show them the future. Dean's argument for going against his decade-long hatred of witches was that if they knew the Leviathan's next move, they could cut them off at the pass and take them down. Sam knew that was Dean-speak for take Dick Roman down, since his brother no longer seemed to care if the world went to Hell in a handbasket as long as Roman got what was coming to him.

"I can't believe you're willing to work with a witch," Sam repeated, frowning at the parchment map in his hand. "You hate witches."

"Well, if she's evil or if she spews any bodily fluids on us, we'll just gank her after we get what we need."

"Turn that way," Sam pointed, seeing a fork in the stagnant water that seemed to match one on his map.

"You sure?" Dean asked, turning the motor slowly to head down the smaller of the murky swamp's watery branches.

"No," Sam admitted with a huff of frustration. "Not really. Why couldn't Joshua just give us GPS coordinates?"

Dean just shrugged. "Hey, maybe we'll run into the cast of Swamp People down here," he sniggered.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Wrong swamp, dude. And even they wouldn't be crazy enough to come this far in."

Two minutes later a house appeared on the left-hand bank. It was old and unpainted, almost camouflaged in the untamed, swampy surroundings. Dreamcatchers and what looked like bones on strings dangled from the eaves all around and even more were strung around the shabby deck rails. Dean steered the boat up to the rickety pier and shut off the motor. They both jumped out, secured the ropes to the wooden pier legs, and stared apprehensively towards the small shack.

"Looks like a place in a movie I saw on HBO last month," Dean commented, taking a step forward.

"What happened to the people in the movie?" Sam ventured, following close behind.

"You don't wanna know."

The door swung open before the elder Winchester could even knock. Dean took an alarmed step backwards, bumping right into his brother's wide chest. A woman stood in the doorway; about thirty and dressed in a loose-fitting but dirt-smeared knee-length dress. Her olive skin was smooth and her hair was woven into tight braids that fell across one shoulder. She narrowed her amber eyes at them.

"Sam and Dean Winchester, I presume?" she snapped.

The brothers simply nodded. She beckoned them to follow and moved inside, leaving the door open behind her. Dean took a nervous step forward before turning his head to whisper to Sam. "She might actually be hot if she had a bath."

Sam groaned. "Spawning a monster baby, remember?" he mumbled back as he peered curiously around the small house. It was one room and the sparse furniture looked homemade. There was a coffee table with blankets on the floor around it and a small bed on the far wall. "Uh, we're here to find out..."

She raised her hand and cut him off. "I know why you're here."

"Lemme guess," Dean said sarcastically. "You had a vision of us coming."

She narrowed her eyes at him once more. "I do not have visions," she said haughtily. "I can see people's futures. That includes my own."

"So what can you tell us about ours?" Sam asked her, preventing his brother from any more rude comments. "Specifically in relation to the Leviathans."

She fixed her gaze back on him. "I can tell you that you might not like everything you discover here. In fact, I would recommend you leave now."

"Well, sweetheart, if you really can tell the future then you know we aren't gonna do that," Dean said, his distaste for witches very thinly veiled at this point.

She gave him another hard look. "You're so lost right now, Dean. It's sad. Finding Dick Roman won't fix you, you know."

"Hey, lady, I don't need fixed," Dean snapped defensively. "What I need is to find Roman – I have a bone to pick with him. Can you help is or not?"

She smirked knowingly, exuding an air of superiority that made Sam uncomfortable. "If Dick's what you want, I can help you find Dick.," she said to Dean, who frowned at her insinuating remark but refrained from making any derogatory comebacks. The Dick puns seemed to be Sam's favorite jokes these days also.

"Let's just get this show on the road, okay?" he huffed, pulling a roll of cash from his pocket and tossing it on the coffee table. "A thousand, right?"

She nodded, not making any move towards the money. Instead she turned to Sam.

"Is he here?"

"Who?" Sam asked, taken aback. She couldn't mean...

"You know who."

Yes, she did mean him. Lucifer. The Devil who had been talking incessantly in Sam's ear for months now, torturing him in a slew of different ways, keeping him awake at night and making him pray and hope beyond hope for just one moment of peace.

"No," he said honestly. "Not right now."

"Good. Try to keep him out of my house."

With that she ordered them to sit down cross-legged on the blanket on one side of the coffee table while she sat on the other. She started mixing a potion together and chalking strange symbols on the surface of the wooden table. Finally she closed her eyes and started chanting in a language foreign to the brothers. The brothers eyed each other nervously and Sam gasped when her eyes rolled back into her head and the eyeballs actually started to quiver in their sockets. Now that was freaky.

A few seconds later, Dean's hand jerked and his eyes did the same, showing full white before he fell back onto the floor. "Dean!" Sam cried, fisting a handful of his brother's shirt and shaking him, trying to snap him out of it. He got no response. Dean fell still but his body remained tense. Sam felt for a pulse and found one but his brother wouldn't wake up. He hollered over the table at the witch but she never even flinched, still sitting there in her own trance-like state.

He swallowed and worked to calm himself. This must be what happens, how she does it. With his fingers still curled in Dean's shirt, he rocked back on his heels, wondering why she hadn't included him and deciding to just wait it out.

It was a long ten minutes before Dean's body relaxed, his eyes finally closing on the wave of a long, slow exhale. Sam shook his brother gently and called his name but still got no response. He glanced over at the witch, however, to see her amber eyes focused on him with a curious look.

"What's wrong with him?" he demanded. "What did you do?"

She shrugged. "I did what he wanted," she said, splaying her hands in a show of innocence. "I showed him his future with the Leviathans."

"And?"

She laughed. It wasn't a wicked laugh but there was no mirth in it. "And it wasn't good," she said.

"What happens?"

"I'll let your brother tell you."

"Do the Leviathans take over? Destroy the planet?"

She sighed. "What he saw is only one possible future. Nothing is written in stone. You two, more than anyone, should know that."

Sam felt a rush of anger boiling up inside him. It was like she was toying with them. With _**Dean**_. His brother was hanging on by a thread, a single strand of hope the only thing that was keeping him getting up in the morning. He desperately needed something to live for. He needed to believe there was a chance they could win, that there was a life for him after the Leviathans. He couldn't take any more despair or loss.

"If there are different possible futures, then why didn't you show him a better one?" he demanded hotly.

The witch watched him calmly. "I showed him the one that will occur if he stays on his current path."

Sam's shoulders slumped in defeat. "He doesn't need this," he admitted out loud, though more to himself than to her. "He was better off not knowing." Sam's voice was tired. "He already doesn't care about anything, especially himself."

She took a long look at the hunter passed out on her floor and her expression softened. "There is a possible future beyond the Leviathans," she said quietly. "For him. For you. For both of you." She looked back towards Sam. "He can use what he has seen and perhaps things can turn out differently. If you defeat the Leviathans, you could find peace."

Sam eyed her suspiciously. "What do you mean by that? You mean real peace or peace like dead-in-heaven peace?"

She smiled at him and for the first time, it seemed sincere. "I mean ... well, here, let me show you." She reached up and touched his forehead. He saw her eyes go white but before he could react, he felt himself falling. "Want to see your future, Sam?" her voice sang at him as his awareness faded away.

He was standing in a house. It was an old house with wooden floorboards and high ceilings lined with ornate trim, but it was a warm house. It looked lived in. Homey. Bright and airy. He was in a living room and there was loud music coming from the kitchen. It was Wheel in the Sky by Journey and there was a voice accompanying the music, off-key and definitely female. Curiosity snapped him out of his surprise at the quick shift in his surroundings and he headed towards the walk-through between the two rooms.

He was a little taken back at what he saw and stopped short in the doorway. There was a woman moving around the kitchen with a baby in her arms, dancing and singing. She was an attractive brunette, perhaps thirty or in her early thirties. She continued for a brief moment before a spin turned her to face the tall hunter and she stopped with an embarrassed gasp.

"Sam! You're home!" she exclaimed, reaching to turn the music down. "I thought you had headed to Riverton to help research that walking mummy thing. I didn't expect you back until tonight."

"Uhhhhh," he stammered, not sure what to say. _Home? Did he live here? With her? Were they together?_ _Oh crap,__** was that his baby?**_

"I came back," he lied.

"Oh, well good," she smiled, working to get the baby, a girl if the pink dress was any indication, into a high chair parked at the table. "That means you get to make breakfast this morning. I would love a stack of your famous pancakes right about now."

"Me? Make pancakes?" His eyes widened. He couldn't remember ever making pancakes. Dean had done what little cooking had been required growing up and Jessica had loved to cook and had practically banned him from the kitchen during his short time with her. Apparently he had learned how – or _**would**_ learn how.

"Oh yeah, right," she rolled her eyes. "Try pulling that humble act with someone else. You know you're the pancake master. So get moving, big guy," she grinned, pointing towards the stove as she strapped the little girl in. "I got everything already out on the counter."

Sam played along, moving over to the stove to stare at the bowl with milk, eggs, sugar, butter, and flour next to it. _This was his future? What was the date?_ He spotted a cell phone on the counter and picked it up to subtly check out the display screen.

September 2017! Almost six years into the future! He choked back a gasp and proceeded to attempt to make pancakes, dumping the ingredients into the bowl at random ratios as he contemplated his next move. He needed to find out what had happened in the last six years. He figured careful fishing would be easier than trying to explain that he was Sam from the past. He needed to find out how they had taken down the Leviathans.

"So, uh, you know where Dean is?" he asked apprehensively, praying silently that she didn't answer him with a 'W_hat do you mean? You know your brother's dead.'_

"Still babysitting in Montana, of course," she answered, giving him a curious look. "You knew that."

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I just forgot for a moment," he covered. "Been a long night."

Suddenly a huge dog came barrelling into the room, barking loudly and being chased by a squealing little boy of about four or five. The boy had dark blond hair and a spattering of freckles across his excited, laughing face. Sam pressed back against the counter in shock at both the sudden chaos and the realization there were two kids.

There was a balloon tied to the massive dog's tail and the freaked-out beast charged under the table trying to escape its clingy attacker. It scooted clumsily past the highchair the baby was in and pleasant shock turned to horror as Sam saw the chair topple over and tumble downwards towards the floor, baby still strapped in it.

He and the brunette both lunged for it but he knew they were too far away. Less than a foot from impact on the floor, however, the chair froze midair before uprighting itself. Sam let out a surprised shout and jumped back, his mind reeling with what he was seeing. _Did his child have demon powers? Was this his worst nightmare come true?_

The woman cut her cry of panic short with a loud exhale of relief, her heart pressed over her heart.

"Oh God, Bobby," she panted, her eyes directed at the empty space behind the now-steady highchair. "Thank you. Crap that could have been bad!"

Sam shook his head, thinking he mustn't have heard correctly. The shocks just kept coming. "Bobby?" he questioned out loud.

She nodded. "Yeah, he's right there," she pointed. "Good thing too." She turned her attention to the empty space again and smiled. "Okay, since you're the big hero today, I'm gonna play you some of your Joni Mitchell. You know I can't stand her music, but you definitely earned it, old man." She moved to the iPod on the counter and switched the Journey song over to 'Big yellow Taxi' before catching the dog by the collar and pulling the balloon off its tail.

Sam was still staring at the place where Bobby was supposed to be standing. Had Dean been right? Was Bobby's ghost haunting them from beyond? This made no sense. They were hunters. They destroyed ghosts; they didn't have them hanging around their kitchens saving their children, even ghosts of dearly departed father figures. Of course, when had Winchesters ever done anything the way they were supposed to?

"Robbie!" the brunette was scolding the little boy. "How many times do I have to tell you no playing with Gabby in the house! You could have gotten Ellie hurt."

Sam's eyes widened at the names of the kids. Robbie and Ellie? Was that after Bobby and Ellen? Sam smiled; it seemed plausible. He would have definitely agreed to name his kids after them. If Bobby was here, then he would know they had done so, which made it all the more special.

"Okay, sit at the table and behave for your Uncle Sam," the boy's mother commanded, pulling the baby back out of the highchair.

_**Uncle**_ _**Sam? **_Sam's heart lurched for the twelfth time in the two minutes he had been here. So these were _**Dean's **_kids. This was _**Dean's**_ family. As much as he had been warming to the idea of this being his family, Sam couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness that it was actually Dean's. Dean deserved this more than he did. This was all Dean had ever wanted in life.

"I'm gonna go change your sister," the woman was saying to the little boy. "You wait right there until your pancakes are ready."

The boy slumped into a chair with an exaggerated huff and folded his arms across his chest, pouting at his mother as she left the room. The moment she was gone, Sam turned to the empty space where she had addressed Bobby. _Why couldn't he see him?_

"Bobby?" he ventured. Naturally there was no response.

The boy giggled.

"What's so funny?" Sam smiled sheepishly at his nephew.

"Grandpa call you idjit," the boy snickered.

A grin broke out on the hunter's face at the familiar insult before it was replaced with a look of confusion. "Wait," he frowned at Robbie. "_**You**_ can see him?"

The boy nodded. "I just like Mommy."

"You see Bobby's ghost?"

The boy nodded again and reached forward to grab his fork, tapping it over and over on the table.

"Do you see other ghosts?"

Another nod.

"And your Mommy sees other ghosts?"

"Uh-huh. But not Ellie. Ellie's like Daddy and can't see the other people."

Sam let this revelation soak in. Dean had hooked up with a girl who could see ghosts? That was surprising, considering Dean's prejudices and distaste for all things supernatural.

The boy giggled once more before dropping his fork back onto the table with a clatter.

"You laughing at me again?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Nuh-unh. Grandpa say his head's gonna explode if I bang my fork one more time."

"Oh," he chuckled, remembering Bobby telling a twelve year old Dean the same thing when the fidgety youngster would tap his foot or snap and unsnap his Swiss Army knife carrying case. "You better listen to him then," he smiled before biting his lip and looking around, his eyes scanning the empty space next to the table. This was an opportunity he never thought he'd get.

"Uh, Bobby," he began, a little uncomfortably. "I guess you can hear me. I just want to say, uh, thanks for everything you ever did for me and Dean. You were like a father to us ... uh, you still are, I guess. I mean, what I'm trying to say is...uh..."

"He say he wuvs you too," Robbie interrupted, glancing back around at the invisible ghost and tilting his head as he listened. "He say you better stop being a girl. He say you better make my pamcakes."

"Yeah, alright," Sam chuckled. It seemed little Robbie was used to translating for the resident ghost. "Pancakes. Is there any way Bobby can help out with that?"

"Grandpa's gone again."

"Oh." Sam felt disappointment run through him but curbed it by reminding himself that if Bobby was here now, then Bobby was with him and Dean back in 2012. He turned his attention back to the stove and started trying to make the pancakes.

"Uh, Robbie?"

"What?"

"What's your mommy's name?"

"Mommy."

"No, her grown-up name. What does your daddy call her?"

"Oh. Haley."

"Haley," Sam repeated. "Good to know."

'Haley' returned after a few minutes and smiled at Sam as she entered without the baby, informing him Ellie decided to go back to sleep. She gave him an amused '_what the hell?_' look when she saw the mess he was making of breakfast but went to work pouring glasses of orange juice and chopping strawberries. She chatted to her son about snakes and spiders and whatever other absurd topics the talkative boy came out with and by the time she had set the table, Sam had a stack of pitiful-looking pancakes ready to serve.

She gave him a skeptical look but ushered him to a seat and the three of them sat down to eat. It was obviously a familiar routine and Sam could only speculate the empty chair at the head of the table was Dean's regular spot. He couldn't help but notice she had a beautiful smile and found himself liking her already.

It occurred to Sam as they dug in that when he had first shown up, she had called this his home yet she was clearly with Dean. Why then was he living there too? Wasn't that more than a little intrusive? Talk about getting in the way. He decided that would be a good place to start fishing for information before broaching the subject of Leviathans.

"So, Haley," he began.

Her head jerked up. "Haley? Since when did you call me Haley?"

Sam fired a slightly exasperated look at his nephew. "Uh, sorry...don't know why that..."

"That's your name, Mommy," Robbie interceded.

"No, that's just what your daddy calls me coz, well," she laughed, "because he's a jerk like that and he thinks he's funny. Everyone else calls me by my real name, Marisol."

"Grandpa calls you Mari."

"Yes, well that's short for Marisol, just like Robbie is short for Robert."

"Grandpa's name!"

She nodded and poured some syrup on his pancake for him.

"Howcome Daddy calls you Haley?"

"Because there was this actor called Haley Joel Osment and he played a boy who could see the other people, like you and me can. Your daddy, being the jerk that he is, decided to give me a nickname." The fondness was oozing out of her voice in spades, despite her derogatory words. "Like I said, your dad thinks he's funny."

Sam grinned, realizing that sounded exactly like something his dickhead brother would do. "I've been thinking," he tried again, "You and Dean and your family should have your space. Me staying here..."

"Oh no you don't! We've been through this all before and you're not going anywhere, Sam." She gave him a hard stare and he actually flinched. "First of all, you haven't seen you-know-who in almost six months. You know you do better when there's people around."

Lucifer. He hadn't seen Lucifer in six months? Wow. Maybe there was a chance for him to find some peace too.

Marisol was still talking. "The kids love having you around and you know as well as I do that your brother would have freaking motel twin beds set up in our bedroom if he had his way."

Okay, he was fairly sure she was exaggerating with that last comment but knowing Dean... maybe not that much. Dean had always wanted his family around. All of them – all the time. The close quarters of living on the road had never bothered Dean.

"As for me, I've had dead strangers following me around my whole life so privacy is never something I ever had or needed. Besides, I love having you here. You're family, Sam. I know Dean doesn't hunt much anymore but it's nice to have your company when he does."

He nodded, swallowing back a lump in his throat at just how good things could turn out for both him and Dean. His brother had always been there for him - why would now be any different? "So you've seen ghosts your whole life?" he questioned, saying the question out loud without thinking. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Duh."

"Robbie here wanted to hear the story of how you and his daddy met," Sam smiled, changing the subject and winking at his nephew as if it was all his idea.

Marisol raised an eyebrow at her son. "You did, huh? Well, a few years ago, your Grandpa had a message for your daddy and Uncle Sam but they couldn't see him. Then one day, he bumped into this girl who could talk to ghosts."

"You!" Robbie laughed, his mouth full of pancake.

"That's right," his mother confirmed, talking in an animated voice as if she were reading a tale of heros and dragons to an enraptured kindergarten class. "And Grandpa nagged and nagged and _**nagged**_this girl until she finally agreed to go find these guys and deliver his message."

"Was the message about Leviathans?" Sam blurted.

"Are you alright, Sam?" she frowned at him, her smile fading instantly. "Your hallucinations haven't started up again have they?"

"No," he replied quickly. "I'm good. Better than good, in fact."

"Well, I gotta say, you seem a little off today. Are you forgetting things? You'd tell me if you-know-who came back, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, of course."

He was rescued just then by her cell phone ringing in her pocket. She pulled it out and a grin spread across her face as she peered at the display screen. She stood up and took a few steps away from the table to answer.

"_Hey babe...Morning to you too...Having breakfast with your brother...of course it was pancakes...well, I wish you were here too...when you coming home?...Still stuck babysitting Garth, huh? Well, if the hunt's finished, bring him with you. You know Robbie loves having a grown-up around that he can actually beat at checkers_." Sam was sure he saw her blush and her voice suddenly lowered. "_Dean! You keep up dirty talk like that and I might just show up at your motel.._." She laughed out loud. "_Very funny. And just so you know, Garth wouldn't know what hit him...okay, I'll see you in a day or two...I love you too..."_

Sam smiled as he listened. Even only hearing Marisol's side of the conversation, his brother sounded happy. He could tell she was wrapping up the conversation when a thought struck him. Dean would remember visiting the witch in Louisiana. He could make this so much simpler by just getting on the phone and explaining to his brother that he was the Sam from the past and needed to know how they stopped the Leviathans so they could do it again.

He reached out his hand and beckoned for the phone. "Can I talk to him?" he mouthed, catching Marisol's eye. She nodded and told Dean to hang on before offering the phone to Sam.

Sam was just placing the phone to his ear when the back door flew open with a loud bang. Before he could even turn around in his chair, he felt himself being flung through the air until he slammed up against the wall. The phone clattered to the floor at his feet, the battery popping out on impact. He pushed against the wall with all his strength and barely managed to turn himself around. He could hear a panicked Marisol calling out to her son, yelling at him to go to the panic room.

Figures Dean would have a panic room. After Lisa and Ben. After everything.

He craned his neck around, fighting the invisible force keeping him in place, and saw the brunette also pinned against the wall just a few feet away. Robbie was still free, standing staring at his mother with a look of absolute terror on his face.

"Robbie, go! Now!" she screamed again and much to Sam's relief, the little boy turned and fled, making it out of the room by the time Sam even set eyes on who had attacked them.

Meg! It was Meg! Wearing the same meatsuit she had been riding the last time he had seen her when she had fled Crowley's torture facility. She was walking towards the pinned pair with that familiar gloating smirk on her face. There was another man a few steps behind her, his arm raised towards Sam and Marisol and eyes solid black.

"Demons!" Marisol hissed. "How did you...?"

"Get past your demon wards?" Meg interrupted. "Oh please. I had a hobo wipe them out for ten bucks and a sandwich." She turned to face Sam, sauntering up to him in an almost seductive manner. "Hey Sammy," she purred. "It's been a while."

"Meg," he ground out. "What do you want?"

The demon actually clucked at him. "Same as I always wanted, Sam. I want you and your ass of a brother to suffer. I've been waiting a long time for this." She glanced over at the brunette and pulled away from him. "It's true that good things come to those who wait. " She moved towards Marisol, drawing a knife. "This is going to be so much more fun than I ever imagined."

"No, wait..." Sam felt the bile rise in his throat. "Meg, no."

Meg placed the tip of the blade against the pinned brunette's stomach and looked back at Sam, practically licking her lips. "Oh don't worry," she taunted. "I won't leave the kids as orphans. I'm not a total monster." She leaned in and looked into Marisol's eyes as she pushed the knife in slowly. "They'll be joining you soon, bitch."

"No! Stop! Meg!" Sam was horrified as he watched, completely helpless.

Marisol made a chortled sound as the blade sank in and there was a gurgle behind her whispered words of mercy. "Please, no. Leave them..."

"No no no. I wouldn't dream of it," Meg sang. "I want Dean to come home and find his whole family gone." She twisted the blade around and grinned at Marisol's scream of pain. Finally she pulled it out only to bring it up to Marisol's throat and swipe it straight across in one sharp motion.

Sam cried out as blood spurted from the neck wound and the mother of Dean's children slumped to the floor, dead. The demon took a step back to gaze down curiously at her handiwork.

"Hmph," she wrinkled up her nose. "Could have been messier, but don't worry Sam." She grinned up at him. "I'll do better with the little ones."

"No!" Sam's voice gave out and he poured every bit of strength he could muster into trying to pull himself free from the wall. "No!"

She pranced towards the hallway door where Robbie had disappeared. "The crib's in the spare room," she taunted over her shoulder at him. "And as for the little rugrat, well he's hiding behind the couch. So much for listening to his mommy."

Sam choked back a strangled sob when she left the room, leaving the male demon behind to keep him pinned firmly in place. He screamed out in panic and frustration when he heard Robbie's terrified scream in the next room. The scream was cut short, silenced midway through and Sam could have sworn a piece of himself died along with it.

He felt himself falling, blackness threatening to swallow him whole from the inside and out. Then Dean's voice was calling him frantically and strong arms were shaking him.

He opened his eyes to find his brother leaning over him, his green eyes full of concern. "Sammy? You alright?"

"Dean," he gulped. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I couldn't..."

"Dude, calm down. Sorry for what?"

He struggled to calm his breathing and looked past his brother's face at his surroundings. The witch's house. He was in the witch's house. He sat up, batting his brother's hands away as his eyes sought out the witch.

She was sitting on the blanket across the coffee table from them, the very picture of calm.

"It's alright, Sam," Dean was saying in a reassuring voice. "It hasn't happened yet. It's a couple of months away still. No Big-Mouths here."

"Okay," he nodded convincingly and struggling to his feet. "I'm good. I'm good."

"You should go now," the witch said bluntly, rising to her feet also.

She ushered them firmly to the entrance, much to Dean's annoyance, ignoring their questions and pushing them outside. Just before she closed the door she looked right at Sam.

"That was just one possible future," she told him pointedly. "Now that you know it, you can change it."

With that, she closed the door firmly in their faces.

Dean grunted his disapproval. "What do you think?" he asked, gesturing towards the knife he always carried in his belt.

Sam shook his head vigorously. "No. Leave her. She's okay. She helped." _More than you will ever know,_ he thought to himself.

Dean grumbled his reply. "Yeah I guess. She's more psychic than witch anyway."

They made their way to the boat and pushed off, Dean once again taking the motor as Sam navigated. The elder Winchester recounted everything he had seen in their future, which had basically involved the brothers and most of the planet dying in a flood of black ooze.

"Things are looking pretty damn bleak, man," Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping even further than usual. Sam was reminded of that scene in the end of the original Terminator movie when the robot's red eye finally flickers and goes out, the last trace of a spark in Dean's disappearing much the same way.

"What did you see?" Dean sighed. "Same thing?"

Sam's heart broke at the utter hopelessness on his brother's face.

"No," he answered. "I saw what happens if we beat them."

Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow, still showing no signs of being open to accepting another possibility.

"I saw you, happy."

A snort.

"I saw you with a family."

A glimmer of hope returned to the green eyes that lifted to look over at him. Sam pounced on it.

"I did, I swear. I had breakfast with them. You had a wife - or a girlfriend I guess coz she didn't have a ring - and you had two kids. Oh, and a dog. Well, it was more of a horse but..."

Dean looked dumfounded.

"And you were right about Bobby. He's totally haunting us."

The stunned look finally gave way to a smirk. "I told you," Dean gloated. "Okay, gimme details."

Sam's heart lifted at the first sign of life he had seen in his brother in a long time. He divulged the particulars, leaving out the part about Meg of course, and enjoyed the restrained smile that kept tugging at his brother's lips as he described the Winchesters' future version of domestic bliss. They fell silent afterwards as Dean soaked it in.

"But that's just one possibility too, right?" Dean stated hesitantly.

"Yeah," Sam conceded. "But the point is you have to have hope, Dean. Things could turn out really good for you."

Dean looked away.

"And me," Sam added. "Seems Lucifer finally fades to black."

"That would be good," Dean said quietly, still averting his eyes. Sam could tell his brother was daring himself to believe.

There was another long silence before Sam ventured a suggestion. "You know, Big Mouths aren't the only enemy. We still need to take out Crowley and those Amazons and ... and Meg." He tried to sound casual about it.

Dean just shook his head. "I've only got eyes for Dick right now." He gave his brother a sharp glare, realizing what he had said. "And if you make even one smart remark about that sentence, I swear, I'll toss you into the swamp." He looked thoughtful before adding "I stop the Leviathans and then I'm out."

Sam let the subject drop, not wanting to argue that last comment. He would kill Meg himself. He would hunt that bitch down and take her out long before Dean's family was even born. She would never get her evil hands anywhere near them. His silent vow felt different than those he had made before it about both Yellow-Eyes and Liith. For once, this wasn't about revenge; no this was a pre-emptive strike. This was about protecting rather than avenging. Dean _**would**_have that future - this time with a happy ending.

He smiled to himself at the thought, amazed at how much knowing the possibilities changed the game. With his own internal battle with Lucifer waging twenty-four-seven, he hadn't realized he too had been losing motivation but this future, _**Dean's**_future, had given him a renewed sense of purpose.

They were both quiet again, just speaking as was necessary to navigate their way back to the boat rental place. As they tied the boat up and headed back up the pier, Dean nudged Sam's shoulder.

"So is she hot?"

"What? Who?" Sam had been distracted by an open-top Jeep pulling up at the end of the pier next to the Winchesters' stolen Chrysler Newport.

Dean rolled his eyes. "This chick I'm supposed to hook up with, of course."

Sam grinned as he watched a slim brunette hop out of the Jeep and shade her eyes to see down the length of the pier.

"Why don't you judge for yourself?"

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

_**A/N:**__ I just wanted to write a little something that would give Dean some hope coz he seems so lost these days and we know Sam sees it. This is what came out. _


	2. Chapter 2  Bobby and Marisol

_**A/N: **This was supposed to be a one-shot but I had a couple of hours last week free and didn't have my notes for my ongoing fic so I decided to write a second chapter to this one instead. _

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

_**A couple of days earlier...**_

Bobby trudged along behind Sam and Dean in the busy Baton Rouge street, an unseen shadow with a perpetual sour expression on his face. He'd near exhausted himself trying to make his presence known but this Swayze thing was a lot harder than he had expected. Frustrated and bad-tempered, he only half-listened to the conversation in front of him.

"We've used psychics before," Dean was saying. "And this tip came from Joshua. He's the one who found that faith healer, remember? Wasn't the real deal but the juju was still happening."

"Yeah, but this is a witch, not a psychic or a healer. It's most likely some old hermit lady off her rocker or, _**if**_ she's legit, then she's probably answering to a demon."

"You got any better ideas, Sam? Coz Frank looked for weeks and all he gave us was a field and a list of big-mouth celebrities to watch out for."

Bobby shook his head in defeat. Dean was like a pitbull in his mission to take down Dick Roman. It was sad to see because of all the Winchester men, he had been the one who had always cared for family more than revenge. Then again, Bobby acquiesced, Dean's dwindling family was down to one.

Sam shrugged and gave in. "Fine. We can go as soon as we finish this hunt. We should have it wrapped by tomorrow." With that, he tried to steer the conversation back to the hunt the boys were working on. Bobby watched as Dean's shoulders sank with disinterest and he felt the usual urge to pat the boy on the back and give him words of comfort. _If only he could._

Just then a slim brunette walked by in the other direction and Bobby watched as Dean's head swivelled around to give her a lingering, appreciative look as she passed. A slight smirk appeared on the trailing ghost's face. It would appear Dean wasn't completely beaten yet, despite how broken and lost he seemed right now. There was still a trace of his old self left in there.

Bobby glanced at the young woman, taking a step sideways so she didn't walk into him and grimacing at the memory of the time Sam had jogged right through him. Frigging creepy. He looked over as she walked by and for a second, she met his gaze.

_**She met his gaze!**_

It was only for an instant and she looked away quickly but Bobby had no doubts that she had seen him.

Yet Dean had seen her ... so she wasn't dead - she wasn't a ghost like him. He stopped in his tracks, his mind spinning in bewilderment and confusion. "Hey!" he called out, forgoing manners in his urgency.

She didn't stop or turn around but he was every bit as observant a ghost as he had been as a hunter and he noticed the slight stiffening in her shoulders. He turned and walked after her quickly, calling to her. "Excuse me! Ma'am! Hey little lady! I know you can hear me..."

He glanced backwards to see Sam and Dean quickly reaching the distance away from him that he had calculated to be the furthest he could get from his old flask in Dean's pocket. A few more steps and he would flicker out and be dragged back to their sides. "I know you can hear me!" he called out desperately.

She could hear him. He was sure of it. Her shoulders were tensed and she flinched slightly every time he yelled. She had also quickened her pace, clearly in an effort to get away from him. There was also something about her ... some kind of feeling or vibe he was getting that almost seemed to pull him towards her. He braced for the unpleasant shock of being zapped back up the street to the Winchesters as he took one last lunge towards the girl. "Please!"

He didn't black out. He didn't even flicker. He was still walking in her direction, had almost caught up with her in fact, and the brothers were now well out of range. He didn't know why but it seemed he could somehow exist around her without the flask. Not sure how long it would last, he doubled his efforts at getting her attention.

He walked behind her, next to her, and even backwards in front of her, trying to slow her down or stop her, begging for her to stop and help him out but she kept on walking. She was obviously putting great effort into ignoring him and trying not to attract attention on the busy street and did not appear amused at his persistence. Finally, she turned into a quiet street and continued through a small parking lot until she reached a red, open-top Jeep. Bobby was still pleading with her to acknowledge him when she reached into the trunk and came out swinging.

He barely noticed the iron bar in her hands as she spun towards him before it was slicing through his midsection. Bobby gasped and doubled over, fighting off the black-out nothingness now threatening to swallow him. _Damn, that hurt like a son of a bitch!_

She reached back into the Jeep, fumbling with something under a tarp. Bobby was still clutching his gut when she flipped open a wooden box and pulled out a shotgun, pumping one round into the chamber as she lifted it to his chest. "Leave me alone," she spat.

In any other circumstances, Bobby might have been inclined to do just that, but his boys needed him.

"Wait," he breathed, still in pain from his bout with the iron. "I just need your help."

"No," she replied quickly. "You should have gone with your reaper."

Bobby backed away quickly, not trusting the determined expression on her face. He ducked behind her Jeep, moving around it as she did to keep the vehicle between them. "I couldn't. I have unfinished business..."

"That's what they all say." The barrel of the shotgun never wavered from his direction.

"They all?" Bobby fished. "You see a lot of us?"

She shrugged. "You aren't the first. Go away and leave me alone or I shoot."

"Wait, wait. Please, my situation's a bit different. There's these two boys that need..."

"I can't help."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Doesn't matter. It's not gonna happen."

"This is important. It could end up saving lives, many lives..."

She snorted. "Yeah yeah. Look, Mister, I've heard it all before, okay? I'm not helping. I'm not listening to your sob story. You're no different from all the others. All nice and friendly 'til all of a sudden, you _**aren't**_."

Now her belligerence was starting to make sense. Bobby could feel some kind of psychic ability within her - it was clearly what made him able to exist around her. It was almost welcoming. He didn't know what it was but figured that other ghosts must be able to sense it too and that likely made her a ghost magnet and probably a target too. After all, they didn't call his kind 'vengeful spirits' for nothing.

He held up a hand in a gesture of peace. "I'm fresh ectoplasm, darlin'," he smiled gently. "Just getting started. I got a while yet before I go all vengeful. I can understand why you don't want to talk to me. Hell, I spent most of my life ending spirits like me but..."

"I'm not listening." They were on their second dance around the car, her weapon still trained on him. "You ever been shot with rock salt?" she threatened. "Hurts like hell, from what I hear."

"I'll take your word on that," he placated calmly. "But listen, these two boys; they're hunters. I just need you to deliver a message for me."

"Hunters?" Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils practically flared as she spat the word out at him. Bobby found himself taken by surprise as she swiftly leapt up into the Jeep and pulled the trigger.

The iron bar that he had thought hurt so much felt like a feather-tickle compared to the pain inflicted by the rock salt blast to the chest. He screamed what sounded strangely like a piercing, _**ghost**_ scream and felt himself dissipating. He fought against it as hard as he could but knew he was losing. Instead he closed his eyes and concentrated on her presence, studying it and connecting to it, hoping like hell he could find it again when he made it back to ghost consciousness. The last thing he heard was her voice, even and unapologetic. "Stay away from me or I'll burn your bones, Mister."

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

After pumping the ghost in town full of rock salt, Marisol drove straight home, double-checking the salt lines around her house as soon as she got in. She opened the fridge and reached for a soda but changed her mind at the last second and instead grabbed a cold beer. Ten seconds later she sank down into her old armchair and let out a long, tired sigh.

Three hours. That's all she had hoped for. Was that really too much to ask? That she get three hours of peace to wander around the city and do her errands? She had been planning on heading to the hair salon before coming home but the appearance of the trucker-cap ghost had rattled her and changed her mind. On top of that, firing a weapon in downtown Baton Rouge wasn't exactly risk-free but she had been on edge lately and thought it justified. Like countless before him, the ghost had been persistent and one persistent son of a bitch at a time was enough.

She reached over and deposited her iPod into the stand on the side table, leaning back and closing her eyes to the mellow sound of Otis Redding. She wasn't blind. She could see she was headed down the same path her mother had taken. She knew she would probably end up much the same way; lonely and afraid.

She had only left the house twice in two weeks. There had always been ghosts and there had always been danger and she used to just chase them off and keep going but recently, with this latest threat...

She spent a quiet evening inside the house, checking and re-checking the salt lines, wards, and hex bags. By ten-thirty, she was in bed, trying to gather the courage to try another venture into town tomorrow. It had just been a harmless newbie ghost today but maybe tomorrow it would be _**him**_. She had been hiding inside for over a week but maybe he was still hanging around…waiting.

Just after three o'clock in the morning, a quiet voice woke her up.

"Normally I ain't one to skulk in young ladies' bedrooms, but you didn't really give me a choice."

She bolted upright, scrambling to the side of the bed to grab the loaded shotgun she always kept there, her eyes straining to see in the dim light. _Crap, the room was cold._

"Woah, hold on there," the voice said and her eyes fell on the figure of the trucker-cap ghost from town today.

"How'd you get in my house?" she hissed, her heart beating in fear. _She was supposed to be safe here._ Oh God, if this newbie could get in then _**he**_ could get in.

The man raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Please don't shoot," he pleaded in a sincere and friendly tone. "I ain't gonna hurt ya."

"How'd you get in?" she repeated.

"Darlin, I was a hunter. I know every way imaginable to keep me out and then some. Plus I've been working on the Swayze thing. A wisp of breath'll put the tiniest break in your salt line and your hex bags, well..." he gave her a curious look, "...movin' things just seems easier around you."

She swallowed. She had heard that before. Just her luck that violent spirits got stronger in her presence. "Get out or I'll shoot you," she said, wishing her voice had sounded braver on the delivery of the threat.

The ghost shook his head. "You can shoot me a hundred times - I ain't leaving here 'til you deliver my message."

"I'll burn your bones," she threatened. "You won't come back after that."

He shrugged. "Already been salted and burned. Will you just do me one favor? I'll never bother you again, I swear."

"No." She wasn't going to give in. When she was a young girl, her mother had made that mistake and they had to move across the country to get away from the onslaught of spirits who somehow heard about her and her daughter. "There's a pretty chatty ghost grapevine and I already get way too many of you harassing me."

"I won't tell a soul."

"You don't know what you'll do." She shook her head again. "See, you all break your word. You all say you're friendly. Well, those of you that are still sane enough to talk do. But you all go crazy. You all get mad eventually. I can't afford to have you hanging around when you do."

He actually had the nerve to roll his eyes at her. "How about a phone call then? Just a phone call."

Her temper rose at the derogatory eye-roll. "No!" she spat. "It won't be just a phone call. You demand and beg and then you don't leave because your message or phone call or whatever never solves anything because all of a sudden it hits you that you're stuck as a freaking ghost! Then you get pissed. Wanna guess who you'll take your anger out on then?" She was yelling now and not entirely sure why she was arguing with this ghost instead of just shooting him already.

His face softened and his expression grew sad. "You really think I'd hurt you?" His voice was gentle and he looked kinder than most and she couldn't help but think he must be telling the truth about being newly dead.

"I won't," he insisted.

"I'm not helping you," she worked to regain her composure. She had been shaken by the knowledge that he had made it past her defences and into her home, her sanctuary. "You can beg 'til you're blue in the face but I'm not helping you."

The spirit sighed and grumbled something about some guy called Dean and being made to watch some stupid movie. He surprised her next by sitting calmly down in the wicker chair at the far side of the room.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.

He shrugged, palms up and simply started singing Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell. She stared at him dumfounded as he repeated the chorus and the _'they paved paradise and put up a parking lot'_ part over and over, each time less in tune than the last. It was a couple of minutes before it hit her what he was doing.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" she seethed, raising the shotgun. "Now I'm Whoopie to your Swayze? I don't think so, Old Man!"

She fired and his face contorted in agony before he disappeared again.

"And stay gone," she said into the empty room before getting up to go fix the salt lines and reposition the hex bags.

_Crafty old fox, she had to give him that._

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

He came back sooner this time, popping up in her kitchen as she was spreading her breakfast waffle and humming along with CCR on the ever-present iPod. She felt the room get cold but he flashed in and swiped the shotgun from the counter before she could even react. He backed off but tossed the weapon through into the other room and placed himself between her and the doorway.

She tensed, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end in trepidation. "I thought you were a newbie," she swallowed, trying to keep her fear in check. "That was pretty good for a newbie."

He shrugged but didn't come any closer. His shoulders were relaxed and she had to admit, his demeanor didn't appear threatening. "I'm motivated," he said with a determined look. "Now, can we revisit this favor idea?"

She shook her head stubbornly, hoping it wouldn't antagonize the ghost. "I'm not contacting anyone for you," she told him. "Especially hunters."

He tilted his head a little and gave her a curious look. "I would think a gal with your uh...talents...would be friendly with hunters."

"Not even close," she answered vehemently, moving slowly towards the end of the counter. "They're more dangerous than your kind. Trust me, I learned that the hard way. More than once."

"Not these hunters," he argued.

"_**Every**_ hunter." She wondered briefly why she was engaging this guy instead of just ignoring him like she did with most spirits. Of course, most spirits didn't figure out how to get into her house. "All I am to hunters is bait," she scoffed, unable to hide the resentment in her voice. She had 'befriended' a few hunters in her lifetime and it had never ended well for her either physically or emotionally. "They can't see past the hunt. I'm just a worm on a hook."

Trucker-cap gave her a sympathetic look. "My name's Bobby Singer, by the way," he said, changing the subject.

She was at the end of counter now and her hand slowly moved behind her. "Marisol," she introduced herself as a distraction while her fingers wrapped around the box of salt behind her. Without waiting for a reply, she swept the box in a wide arc in front of her, feeling relief and satisfaction when she saw the spray of white powder sprinkle right through the ghostly figure in her kitchen. He howled in pain and she reached for the iron wrench on a nearby surface and lashed out at him with it. It sliced right through and within seconds, he was gone.

She stood still for just a second, her breath heavy after the brief rush of adrenaline, then hurriedly moved towards the closest window. He would probably recover fairly quickly as it was only a small sprinkle of salt she had hit him with and iron was never as effective as salt. She re-checked the salt line and had moved to the next before it occurred to her that if he got in once, he could get in again.

Crap. And now he'd be pissed.

She heard a noise behind her and her heart skipped a beat. _Was he back already? _She spun around, expecting to see the trucker-cap ghost but the sight her eyes fell upon was far, far worse.

It was _**him**_. The soldier. Whatever Bobby Singer had done to break her house's defences had allowed something much worse to enter. Her thoughts jumped to her last encounter a week ago with this ghost outside the Pump'N'Save up the street and her heart twisted in a hard knot of fear. She still sported the bruises and the bandaged cuts and the memory of a very narrow escape.

He stood a few feet away from her with a menacing look on his face. He was wearing Yankee military clothes from the Civil War and had a dark rope-shaped bruise traveling the circumference of his neck. Marisol's iPod flickered on and off before dying completely, leaving the room both cold and silent.

"Bessy," he said, his voice deep and gravelly.

"I'm not Bessy," she stammered, knowing denying it wouldn't make any difference. This ghost was beyond reason. He had one single purpose for existing and unfortunately, that purpose was to kill his precious Bessy.

He moved in flashes, flickering in and out and instantaneously appearing right next to her. She swung the iron wrench at him but he never even flinched. The weapon was torn from her hands with an invisible force and sent careening across the room. She swallowed a scream and tried to run, tried to get past him towards the living room and the discarded shotgun.

She never got two feet. His hand clamped around her wrist and he yanked her towards him only to slam his palm into her chest. She felt the blow like a freight train and was thrown backwards, flying across the floor before slamming into the kitchen cupboards beneath the sink.

In another flash he was above her, an anguished look on his face as he bent over and pinned her by her wrists. "Why, Bessy? Why?" he repeated over and over. "Why did you do this to me?" She struggled and writhed desperately to get free but his grip was far too strong. "We were meant to be together, Bessy. How could you do this to me? To us? You ruined everything. You broke my heart, Bessy. Now I'll break yours. It's the only way ... the only way we can complete our journey."

"I'm not Bessy!" she screamed. "I'm not Bessy! Get your paws off me you psycho! Let me..." He cut off her words as he moved one hand to her neck and pushed her back against the cupboard doors while his other hand moved to her heart. He pushed it forward and it sank _**into**_ her chest, sending shockwaves of the most intense agony through her entire body. She lashed out at him but knew she was no match for his ghostly strength. The pain was blinding and every nerve and thought was screaming at her that this was it - _she was going to die_ - when the pain suddenly stopped.

She gasped and struggled for breath, blinking her eyes to regain her focus until she could see what was going on and why he had stopped. There was a lot of noise and her vision finally cleared enough to show her Bobby Singer wrestling in the middle of her kitchen with the soldier. Well, wrestling would be a generous way of putting it for most of his swings were missing, sliding right through the other apparition. The soldier's swings, on the other hand, were striking the kindly trucker-cap ghost every time and clearly starting to take their toll.

Marisol leapt to her feet as fast as she could and staggered to the living room. She grabbed the always-loaded shotgun and ran back, emptying round after round into the soldier. He growled and flew at her a few times but was clearly starting to feel the effect of the multiple rock salt rounds to the chest. Finally, when she was on her last round, he flickered and disappeared.

She turned to Bobby, who was pulling himself up from his knees, groaning and wheezing in pain. He looked up to see her standing with the shotgun aimed in his direction and his eyes widened in alarm. He raised a hand. "Hold on a minute there, gal," he panted. "I just..."

"You helped me," she said, sounding a bit stunned. She lowered the shotgun quickly with an "oh!", not having realized she had it pointed at her saviour. "Thank-you," she said sincerely.

Bobby finally made it upright and gave her a tired grin. "You're welcome. Alright, gimme the skinny. Who in the hell was that?"

She sighed and leaned against the counter, fighting back a sudden, embarrassing urge to cry. "His name is Hugh Laffarty," she blurted. "He was a Confederate soldier in the Civil War. He showed up here about six weeks ago thinking I was some girl named Bessy. He's more powerful than most. I mean, you saw him. He took a lot of salt rounds before disappearing. He keeps coming back, always the same deal and always violent." She lifted the hem of her t-shirt up enough to show Bobby the large purple bruise the soldier had left her with on his last visit. "But he's never made it into the house before."

Trucker-cap ghost looked thoughtful. "Well, we best be seeing about burning his bones then," he said matter-of-factly.

Marisol frowned at him, regaining her composure. "I'm not new to this game," she said indignantly. "I did my research. He deserted his battalion two days before the Battle of Chickamauga, September 1863, and was never heard from again. Don't know where he died or when he died so his remains could be anywhere. He's a hundred and fifty year old spirit so he's got quite a range from his bones or whatever object he could be tied to so that makes them pretty hard to pin down."

The ghost ran a hand through his beard. "You mean as I get older, I'll be able to stray farther from my flas…from my object?"

She frowned at her slip but nodded. She didn't customarily explain the ins and outs of ghosthood to her unwanted visitors. She didn't want to encourage them to seek her company.

"Hmmm. That's good to know. Anyway, sounds like you got a nasty sonofabitch on your ass, darlin'. Lucky for you, I happen to know a couple of boys who make it their job to help people out in these kind of situations."

She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. "I told you, I don't deal with hunters. I've killed tons of ghosts myself; this one's no different. I just need to…"

"You just need to stop being so damn stubborn and call the best damn hunters I ever met," he interrupted. "Trust me, they got way too much on their plates to stick around afterwards so they won't keep bothering you. What they will do, is see that sonofabitch destroyed. I swear it."

She couldn't believe she was even entertaining the idea but that had been a close call and she was admittedly shaken and scared. "And I suppose I could just deliver your message at the same time," she rolled her eyes, laying on the sarcasm in an effort to hide her fear. "How convenient for you."

"Just gravy at this point," he told her, his expression sincere. Marisol found herself wanting to trust him, to give him the benefit of the doubt even though that went against her lifetime of experience to the contrary.

"I won't be able to chase that monster away again," he continued. "And I'm really sorry about lettin' him in here but now that he's seen how I did it…"

She swallowed. "I'm not safe here, am I?"

He shook his head. "You should leave right now. I can stick with ya but you need _**alive**_ people to help you get that crazy off your tail. Ain't no shame in askin' fer a bit of help."

She still looked hesitant.

He rolled his eyes and threw her a hopeful grin. "Did I mention these two boys were easy on the eyes?"

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

_**New A/N: **So I decided to add a third chapter from Dean's POV that starts when they meet at the pier and goes through them helping Marisol kill the soldier. It again has a different feel than the previous chapters - kind of like its own little story. Hope you continue on :)_


	3. Chapter 3 Dean

_**A/N: **Sorry this took so long to get back to and finish off. Hope you enjoy Dean's take on the whole situation._

**CHAPTER 3 - DEAN**

Dean helped Sam tie up the boat and they walked up the pier together, the future Sam had seen still causing Dean's head to spin. Part of him wanted to shrug it off to wishful thinking and continue on his obsessive hunt for Dick without giving it a second thought. But another part of him, part he thought was as dead and gone as all of his friends, was opening up to the idea. And that part was curious.

He nudged his brother's shoulder. "So is she hot?"

"What? Who?" Sam stammered, seeming distracted.

"This chick I'm supposed to hook up with, of course," he answered, rolling his eyes.

A grin appeared on his brother's face as he stared up ahead. "Why don't you judge for yourself?"

"Wh-what?" Now it was Dean's turn to stammer as his head spun to follow the direction of Sam's gaze. There was a brown-haired girl in her mid twenties standing at the end of the pier, a hand held up over her eyes to block out the sun. She was staring right at them.

Words escaped the usually cocky hunter as he took in the sight of what might become the mother of his children. He did manage to note she was slim and at least at this distance, pretty, but his brain was doing cartwheels inside his skull and any details beyond that were lost on him.

She stood there with a hand on her hip, waiting as they approached. Sam strode right up to her, a grin still plastered across his face. When they were just a few feet away, she turned to the empty space beside her with a smirk. "Okay, you definitely weren't lying about one thing," she said quietly to nobody.

"Sorry, what was that?" Sam asked, his voice friendly as he came to a stop in front of her. "Did you say something?"

She shook her head hastily. "Private joke. Are you Sam and Dean Winchester?"

Dean remained quiet as Sam confirmed their identity, extending a hand for her to shake and asking for her name. She looked vaguely familiar but Dean couldn't quite place where he'd seen her before.

"Marisol," she said simply, accepting the handshake but keeping it short and not bothering to greet Dean individually. "Listen, I have a message for you. This is going to sound weird but…" She hesitated and glanced around, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation.

"Trust me, nothing you can say can be weirder than some of the stuff we've seen," Sam appeased.

"Yeah, I know you're hunters," she blurted. Dean didn't miss the cool tone of her voice as she practically spat the word 'hunters'.

Sam took no offence, that goofy grin still on his face. He kept throwing quick glances at Dean, his eyes darting between his brother and the brunette as if watching for some proverbial spark or something. Dean wanted to smack that grin off Sam's face but was too busy sorting through conflicting thoughts to do anything. Womanizing Dean wanted to make the moves on the hot chick right away. Family-man Dean wanted to be sweet and romantic and get to know her. Guilty Dean wanted to giver her a wide berth and keep her away from the danger and death that plagued him. Dead-inside Dean wanted to walk right past and head on down the road after Dick Roman without so much as a backwards glance at her.

"We are hunters," Sam conceded. "So you see why nothing you say is going to weird us out."

She still looked nervous. "Why don't we go somewhere else and talk?" she suggested. "Somewhere where there's more people."

That surprised Dean. Was she scared of them? If she was here with a message from Bobby, why was she scared of them? "We're not going to hurt you," he blurted.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Somewhere with less mosquitoes," she added, swatting at the growing cloud of insects buzzing around their heads. "I'll meet you at the diner at the fork in the road right before you hit town. Okay?"

Sam nodded, voicing his assurances they would be there a few minutes after her, as soon as they took care of the paperwork for the boat rental. She turned on her heel and hopped back in her Jeep, driving away without any further goodbyes.

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

She was sitting in a booth in the back corner when they got there. Sam practically elbowed Dean out of the way to slide in opposite her, leaving his brother no choice but to scoot into the booth next to her. Dean frowned his disapproval across the table. "What is this, junior high?" he grumbled. Sam ignored him and still couldn't seem to wipe the smile off his face as he stared openly at the nervous-looking girl.

"So this message," Sam led. "I'm guessing it's not from the phone company."

She shook her head. "No. It's from…uh…"

"Bobby?" Dean offered, not liking her obvious level of discomfort and trying to make it easier on her.

Her eyes widened and she turned to give him an accusatory stare. "How did you know?"

It was Sam who answered. "We're hunters," he reminded her. "We've been seeing the signs. It was only a matter of time before he found a way to communicate with us."

She was silent for a long moment, staring warily at each of the brothers in turn. "I can see him," she said finally. "I can see people that have died but didn't, you know, cross over."

Dean had been searching for proof Bobby was still with them but now that it was staring him in the face, it wasn't happiness he was feeling. More like trepidation. Fear. Apprehension of what would come of it. After everything they had been through, he believed more than ever that what was dead should stay dead.

Sam kicked him under the table and gave him a reproachful look, subtly telling him to get the dark expression off his face. He glanced at Marisol to see she was tense, leaning away from him slightly in the booth. He remembered the way Sam used to think of himself as a freak when he was getting visions and after he found out about the demon blood and cursed himself for the momentary lapse. He pulled on a lighter smile, pushing away his dark thoughts.

"So you can see Bobby?" Sam was asking, minding his reaction much more tactfully than Dean had. "Is he here right now?"

She shook her head. "Nah. He comes and goes. He disappeared before you came in."

Sam nodded. "What's his message?"

"Well, it's a bit weird and I don't quite understand all of it."

"Give us a try," Sam encouraged.

She started to explain that these things called Leviathans had 'archaeological digs' going on all over the world and were looking for a specific tablet that was supposedly the Word of God with instructions on how to kill their leader. Killing the leader would kill them all. Each of these sites had been assigned a five digit number and one of them, of which Bobby had seen the number but not the location, had turned up evidence that indicated it was the place the tablet was buried.

"Bobby says it's just a matter of time before they find the tablet and destroy it and if they do…"

"We lose our only chance of killing Dick," Dean cut in, his extreme hatred for the Leviathan leader coming through in his harsh tone.

Marisol nodded. "Bobby told me where their headquarters are," she continued. "Where you'll be able to find out where the site with the ID number 48495 is located so you can get your hands on the tablet before they destroy it."

"Where?" Sam pressed eagerly.

She pursed her lips. "First explain what the Leviathan are and what they're doing and why the whole planet is in danger," she said. "I deserve to know what's going on if I'm going to be your walking telegram."

Dean growled his displeasure when Sam obediently laid out the whole situation for her, sparing no details except any mention of Cas by name, which Dean figured was more for his benefit than anything else. Cas's betrayal had taken a lot out of Dean and the dead angel was rarely mentioned these days.

He watched Marisol's expression grow more and more horrified as Sam explained the dire circumstances.

_Welcome to life with the Winchesters._

She was silent for a long moment after Sam finished before slumping back in the booth. "Bobby told me to ask you guys to help me out with something but now…" she bit her lip. "I guess I should leave you to your business. Seems a lot more important than my little problem."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Little problem?"

"Yeah." She waved a hand in the air. "Don't worry about it. Go get your tablet. The Leviathan's secret headquarters are in a small Sweet-Foods district office in Seattle. It's a subsidiary of SucroCorp."

"No," Sam said hurriedly, leaning forward with both his elbows on the table. "What's wrong? Do you need help? We'll help you first."

Dean was surprised at Sam's immediate shelving of the mission. They just got their first good, solid lead on Dick Roman and how to take down all the Leviathans and he wanted to stick around to help one girl? Sam must really want that future he had seen for Dean if he was willing to risk the planet to get it. It warmed Dean's insides a little as well as tightening the nervous knot forming in his gut. Having a chance at a future just gave him more to lose if he failed.

Sam pressured the girl until she explained her situation. There was a malevolent spirit she referred to as 'The Soldier' basically stalking her and trying to kill her. Dean again remained uncharacteristically quiet while Sam coaxed the information out of her. She explained what she had found out so far but that she had hit a dead end and didn't know what else to do now that he could get into her house.

It felt surreal, sitting next to this pretty girl who saw frigging ghosts of all things and knowing he was going to stay with her, that she was _**the**_ _**one**_, and that he would start a family with her – something he didn't even bother to deny anymore that he wanted. Well, _**had**_ wanted. He had all but given up on ever having that for so many reasons. The possibility of a family of his own had been wiped of the table when Lisa and Ben had almost died just for having known him, this new outlook reinforced as everyone else around him kept dropping like flies, gutting him to the point of not even caring that he would die alone. He didn't dream of that fantasy even in moments of weakness anymore. The whole idea was just gone.

And now it was sitting right next to him. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

But what he did know was that he wanted to gank this Hugh Lafferty ghost more than anything – more than he should for someone he just met.

Of course they would stay to help her. Dean knew saving her would be pointless if they didn't save the planet from the bleak future he had seen in the witch's house, but saving the planet didn't mean much to him with nothing to look forward to afterwards but more of this numbness. What had Cas once called this? His 'crippling, overly empathetic response'?

Well, Cas was dead.

They decided to head to Walker County, Georgia, to the site of the battle where Hugh was last seen alive. This was where he had deserted his battalion in the Confederate Army, just two days before eighteen thousand of his fellow soldiers lost their lives.

Marisol had insisted, more than a little coolly in Dean's opinion, that she had already been and had done her research at the little museum there. Dean found himself getting annoyed at her brisk demeanor towards them but bit his tongue and refrained from snapping at her. He wondered where she got off giving them attitude when they were holding off on saving the planet to help her out.

It was a nine hour drive. Sam suggested one of them ride with her or that she ride with them but she refused, stating quite curtly that she was perfectly capable of driving herself. As they settled in their stolen car-of-the-week, a Chrysler Newport, Dean threw a questioning glance at his brother.

"You sure you got the right girl?" he accused. "Coz I'm not exactly getting the warm and fuzzies from her."

Sam nodded, dismissing Dean's doubts. "I'm sure. Trust me, she's nice."

"Hmph," Dean snorted, starting up the ignition. "Could've fooled me."

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

They spent an hour at the museum talking to the staff and the curator but weren't turning up any new information. Marisol had given up before them, going outside to wait in her car for them to finish. The Winchesters' persistence finally paid off and a patron who had overhead their questions directed them towards a private collector in Tuscaloosa, Alabama who had apparently been collecting information on that particular battle for decades. The brothers thanked him and headed outside.

Dean strode over towards Marisol's Jeep to inform her of their lead. She had the top down and he could hear her talking as he approached from behind, though she appeared to be alone.

_Could it be Bobby? _

"So Dean... he's kinda shy around women, huh?" she was saying.

He ducked out of line of sight from her side mirrors, keeping his footsteps slow and silent.

There was a short pause before she spoke again. "What's so funny?" He could imagine the frown on her face by the indignation in her voice. "What do you mean I've got it backwards? Sam's definitely the friendly, flirty one. " Another pause. "Oh. Really?" Her voice grew almost sad. "So it's just me then? He thinks I'm a freak." She slumped in her seat. "You didn't _**have**_ to say it… Don't worry, I'm used to it, Bobby. Especially from hunters. I've even had a few try to kill me and my mom over the years. Said we were abominations."

Dean felt his blood boil. Her hateful attitude towards hunters certainly made more sense now. He stepped up to the driver's door, making his presence known. "You're not an abomination," he blurted.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "That was a private conversation."

"Sorry. I couldn't help but overhear." Dean thought of Sam and Gordon Walker. "Listen, you didn't ask for this," he told her sincerely. "This isn't your fault and there's nothing wrong with you."

She clearly hadn't been expecting that response. "You really believe that?" she asked slowly.

"Of course," he said quickly. Psychic and supernatural powers gave Dean the creeps but he wasn't going to hold the crappy hand that fate had dealt Marisol against her. She wasn't to blame for this any more than Sam was to blame for Azazel choosing him.

"So the museum was a dead end huh?"

Dean shook his head, allowing her change of subject. "No, actually. We got a lead in Tuscaloosa. We're headed there now. A private collector with a ton of information. It'll be late by the time we get there but hopefully this lady will still see us."

She started up her engine. "Okay, I'll meet you there," she told him before pulling away so quickly Dean had to step back to avoid his toes getting run over. He watched her red Jeep pull out of the parking lot and sighed, turning to head back over to Sam in their car.

He was _**so**_ not off to a good start. Maybe she had a twin sister and Sam had got them mixed up?

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

It was after ten o'clock at night by the time they reached Martin Luther King Junior Boulevard, a secondary road just outside of Tuscaloosa and ten minutes from the collector's address. Sam was driving, keeping his eyes trained on the Marisol's taillights up ahead, when the red lights suddenly veered sharply on the road. The Jeep swerved violently left then right before careening right off the road and down the grassy banking, slamming into a tree with a sickening crunch that could be heard through the closed windows of the Chrysler they were driving.

"Oh, crap! Dean!" he cried, immediately bringing the car to a skidding halt on the gravel shoulder. Dean was out and running before the car even at a full stop, yelling at Sam to grab a shotgun. It was a remote stretch of road but the moon was bright and Dean could see Marisol clambering out of her driver's door as he dashed down the banking towards her. She was stumbling and he could make out a dark streak running down the bridge of her nose ending at her upper lip. She had pulled herself around to the back of her car and was fumbling for something under the tarp. He was just twenty feet away when she suddenly flew backwards, slamming onto her back on the muddy ground of the wide ditch, the tire iron in her grasp landing a few feet away with a dull thud.

"Marisol!" he yelled, racing as fast as he could towards her and deciding for certain this was no accident.

Her piercing scream ripped through the night air and she started clutching and clawing at her chest, her legs kicking and flailing frantically and her body writhing beneath some invisible force Dean could only conclude was the soldier. He bent down to scoop up the lost tire iron as he sprinted the last few steps to reach her, swinging it wildly in the air above her. She continued screaming in obvious agony and Dean swung again, still to no avail. A second later he felt a pain shoot through his chest as he was thrown towards the trees by something invisible but very fricking solid.

Suddenly Sam was there, blasting away with the shotgun into the empty air above her but she kept on choking and writhing, her screams having turned into gasping and wheezing, her body near convulsing on the grass.

"You're not hitting it!" Dean yelled unnecessarily as he made it to his feet.

"I can't see it!" was Sam's panicked reply.

Dean staggered back over as he watched Sam fire another shot off randomly over Marisol then narrow his eyes and swing the shotgun decisively to aim next to her instead, firing off three steady rounds in succession. A man's scream sounded and an instant later, Marisol's body relaxed, slumping down into the soft terrain beneath her and her eyes floating closed.

Dean dropped down next to her even while Sam was still aiming the shotgun and he placed a hand on her neck to feel for a pulse. When he didn't find one he placed a hand on her chest, hoping instead for a heartbeat. "She's not breathing," he shouted, immediately starting CPR.

Sam sank to his knees next to him, staying out of the way while Dean administered chest compressions.

"No," Sam rasped, sounding panicked. "No. This isn't supposed to happen. I saw her six years from now."

Dean spared a sideways glance as he shifted to give her mouth-to-mouth. Two puffs later with no reaction from Marisol, he moved back to her chest. "You only saw one possible future, remember?" he found himself saying.

_How fucking unfair was this? Why give him hope then kill her before he even got to know her?_

"No, keep going," Sam almost whimpered. "You need this, Dean. She'll be fine."

She made a choking sound and her chest suddenly heaved. Her eyes fluttered open for a brief second, wide and scared, before closing again.

"Oh, thank God!" Sam breathed, rocking back on his heels as Dean checked for a pulse again, this time finding one. Erratic, but strong.

Dean spared his brother another glance, touched by the sheer level of relief showing on Sam's face. Wow. Sam _**really**_ wanted Dean to have that almost-apple-pie version of the future had seen at the witch's house. Maybe even more than Dean wanted it for himself.

"She's not outta the woods yet," he said, turning his focus back to the unconscious woman in front of them. He slid his arms under her shoulders and knees and lifted. "I'll get her to the hospital. You call a tow truck and get her Jeep out of here."

Sam nodded, rising to his feet also. "Be careful," he said as Dean placed Marisol in the passenger seat of the Chrysler and shut the door. "The ghost could come back." Dean just nodded before jumping in the driver's side and kicking up a spray of stones as he tore back onto the road.

The closest hospital was in Tuscaloosa, maybe fifteen minutes away. Marisol hadn't stirred and Dean kept giving her anxious glances as he drove. He had felt such numbness since mind-wiping Lisa and Ben, then losing Cas, then having to park his always-dependable Impala, then losing Bobby, that he'd almost forgotten what this feeling was like. This feeling of caring about someone, worrying about losing someone, being vulnerable and feeling his heart twisting in panic. This feeling was almost foreign to him and it was a feeling he hadn't missed. And damn, he didn't even know this girl! He was feeling this over a freaking _**story**_ some witch had given Sam. A _**pipedream**_. He shook his head and pressed his foot heavier on the gas pedal.

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

It was dawn the next morning before Marisol woke up. Dean was alone, slouched on a chair in the hospital waiting room when the nurse came to give him the news. Sam had managed to get her Jeep out of the ditch and running and had taken it to go visit the private collector and see what he could find out about Hugh Lafferty.

"She's awake, she's lucid, and we've told her the jist of what happened," the nurse informed him. "There doesn't seem to be any permanent head trauma. You can go see her now, if you like."

He didn't need to be told twice. She was sitting up when he walked into the room, tugging at the IV at her wrist. She looked frightened.

"Hey," he greeted her with a smile intended to be reassuring. "You gave us quite the scare there last night."

'It was the soldier," she said absently, wincing as she slipped the IV tube out. Her eyes met Dean's and narrowed. "You brought me to a hospital."

He raised an eyebrow at her accusatory tone. "Uhh, you're welcome?"

"Welcome? I have to get out of here." She swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Hey, what's the rush?" Dean demanded, thinking she should listen to the doctors and stay put for a while. "You almost died, you know."

She ignored his advice. "I can't stay here. You never should have brought me here."

Dean groaned. He just couldn't seem to win with her. She couldn't see past the fact that he was a hunter. "Your heart stopped, sweetheart," he justified testily. "You weren't waking up." He opened his jacket to reveal a sawed-off shotgun tucked inside. "The nurses kept cleaning up the salt line I put down but don't worry, if the soldier comes back, I'll send him packing."

She was on her feet now, clutching his arm for support. "It's not just him I'm worried about," she frowned. "Hospitals are… I just can't be here. They probably already know I'm here."

"Who?"

She spun to face the window, her face registering alarm. "Them," she hissed, heading for the door.

Dean reached for her hand to stop her but she swatted him away and kept going. He was wondering who she was talking about when the phone suddenly flew across the room, nearly hitting her in the head.

'Oh crap!" Dean exclaimed, the pieces falling into place. "There's a ghost in here?"

"It's a hospital, Einstein," the brunette snapped as she made it out into the hall. "They're everywhere."

He noticed she wasn't overly steady on her feet so he grabbed her arm and led the way down the hall to the stairwell.

Marisol elaborated as they ran. "Lost, confused spirits who linger and get more frustrated and pissed every day. Hospital ghosts are the worst of all of them."

He held the stair door open for her, glad the early hour meant the halls were virtually deserted. He glanced down as she passed to see the back of her hospital pinney was open enough that he could see half of each rounded cheek of her ass, covered only in her pink lace underwear. He worked to erase the smirk from his face and keep his thoughts clean. _Respect, Dean. Mother of your children. Mother of your children._

She leaned on him going down the stairs, still griping about a hunter not knowing enough to avoid bringing her to a hospital. They were on the third floor making their way down but just as they passed the door to the second floor, she stopped abruptly, gasping as she stared down at the next landing. Dean reacted quickly and pulled out the shotgun.

"Don't bother," she cried, tugging him towards the second floor door. "There's three of them!"

They dashed out into the hallway and slammed the door behind them. "Got any salt?" she asked him hurriedly.

He groaned, his eyes scanning their new surroundings. He had left his salt bag upstairs in the waiting room. There was a canteen not far away, empty and all boarded up at this early hour. He dashed to the closest tables and snatched the salt shakers. "Now I do," he smirked, grabbing her hand once more and heading towards the elevators.

They were almost at there when she stopped short again. "No, look, just leave me alone. I can't help you." She was talking to thin air in front of them, her grip tightening on Dean's arm.

"Someone there?" he demanded.

She shot him a 'duh' look. "Just calm down," she placated the unseen ghost. "I'm sorry this happened to you but there's nothing I can do, I…" She stopped her attempt at reason when chairs from the empty canteen started flying at them.

"Something tells me it's not listening," Dean remarked as he tugged her down a nearby hallway marked 'O.R.' with one arm extended protectively around her shoulders. The chairs were still flying so he ducked them into a nearby room and slammed the door shut, unscrewing the caps from the salt shakers and swiftly lining the threshold.

"I hate hospital ghosts," she announced from where she stood behind him.

"Yeah you kind of mentioned that already," he pointed out, his voice not hiding his growing irritation.

"They're angry they died and haven't figured out what to focus on so they just stick around here and go crazy and when I show up… "

"They focus on you," he finished.

She nodded and the look of shame on her face made him bite back the smart ass remark that was about to slip out. She was already having a bad enough day; she didn't need him adding insult to injury. He glanced around and saw they were in some kind of supply room, rows of shelves holding all sorts of medical equipment and supplies. The door rattled.

"Great, now we're trapped," she gulped.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I got a plan." He looked around again and frowned. Actually, he had no plan. Finally he reached into his pocket for his phone. "Ah! I'll call Sam."

He didn't have time before the door was flying open with a loud bang, scattering the salt line.

"Damnit!" Marisol cursed, backing up. "This guy's been around a while - learned some tricks."

Before Dean could react or pull out the sawed-off again, a shelf was emptying its contents, a cluster of objects flying through the air towards them. He instinctively jumped in front of Marisol, turning his back towards the projectiles and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her in close to shield her with his broad shoulders. He grunted in pain at the multiple jolts of pain he felt stabbing into his back but stood his ground, keeping her protected until the attack ended, metal objects clattering to the floor all around them. He stepped back and manoeuvred her behind one of the shelves, ignoring the residual sharp pains in his back. He spun around to raise the shotgun towards the empty space behind them.

Of course, he had no idea where to shoot because he couldn't see the fricking thing.

Marisol solved the problem. She stepped forward and snatched the weapon from his hands, blasting a round in front of them, pumping it, then blasting another round just off to the side.

"Okay, he's gone," she announced, handing the shotgun back.

Dean just nodded, swallowing his pride at the hero role being stolen from him. "Alrighty then," he shrugged. "We'd better get out of here before security finds us."

"Oh my God!" she gasped, her hand clamping over her mouth. "Dean! You've got scalpels sticking out of your back!"

He grunted. "Yeah, I figured that's what it was. You mind pulling them out?"

She bit her lip in sympathy but nodded, placing one hand on his shoulder while the other yanked the two blades out one at a time and dropped them on the floor.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, sounding genuinely concerned.

Dean nodded, easily masking the pain he was feeling. "I will be. Let's go."

Ha! Hero role re-acquired.

They ventured out into hallway and when Marisol confirmed the coast was clear, bolted for the second stairwell. They were out in the parking lot thirty seconds later, clambering into the Chrysler.

Dean ran options through his head and decided Sam could finish the research on his own. He was taking Marisol home. If the soldier could find her on some backroad in Alabama, he could find her anywhere. She needed to be somewhere safe, somewhere they could properly defend. She had wards set up at her house. Surely they could add a few and make the place ghost-proof again.

She didn't argue his decision. She simply nodded and sank deep into the seat, accepting the offer of his jacket to cover up with a grateful nod.

Half an hour passed in silence and he glanced over to her to find her looking out the window with an unreadable expression on her face. "Hey," he said quietly to get her attention and grinning at her when she turned around to face him. "So you must be thinking I'm a pretty sorry excuse for a hunter right now, huh?" he asked sheepishly.

She gave him a surprised look. "Why would I be thinking that?"

"Uh, because you obviously hate hunters and I never should have let you drive by yourself and I _**definitely**_ should have seen the hospital problem coming… "

"That's not what I was thinking." She didn't elaborate but for once, her tone wasn't hostile.

Dean decided that was a good sign. "Oh? Well, Haley Joel, what _**were**_ you thinking?"

She smiled at his choice of nickname, chuckled even.

"Wow, I don't believe it!" he exclaimed. "You actually smiled at me. I'll have to remember to call you Haley more often."

"Don't even think about it," she rolled her eyes. "If you must know, I was trying to figure out how to say thanks."

"Thanks?"

"You just saved my life and you got stabbed in the back for me." Her smile widened. "Maybe you're not so bad after all… for a hunter, anyway."

Dean grinned back at her. "You should smile more often," he found himself saying. "You have a really nice smile." He meant it sincerely, not as the pick-up line it probably sounded like, but he noticed a blush creeping into her cheeks.

"And since you're not hating on me anymore," he continued, "I guess I should tell you that your hospital pinney totally shows your ass."

She gasped and her mouth dropped open as she hastily reached behind her.

"Don't worry; it's a nice ass," he teased.

She laughed even as her cheeks grew pinker. "Okay, now I see what Bobby was getting at," she said.

Dean's laughter faded at the mention of his dead friend. He tapped his shirt pocket and pulled out Bobby's old flask, glancing at it before dropping it in his lap. "Is he here?" he asked apprehensively. He hadn't had a chance to speak directly to his deceased father figure yet since meeting Marisol.

"Who, Bobby?" She shook her head. "No. Not right now."

"You know, when you went off the road and that thing was attacking you, Sam was shooting at it but he kept missing because he couldn't see it," the hunter told her. "He says then the shotgun moved itself, like something was aiming it for him."

She nodded, not looking all that surprised. "Bobby was in the car with me when he showed up," she acknowledged. "It's not the first time your friend has helped me."

Dean took a deep breath, working up the courage to ask this next question. "Is he gonna… is he gonna go all vengeful?"

She sighed. "Yes, eventually," she said sounding genuinely apologetic. "Depending on the circumstances, it can be instant or can take days, weeks, years even. You should know, Dean, you hunt them. How many good ones do you come across?" She held eye contact with him. "It could be something that instigates a sudden turn, like the old house they lived in being demolished or their descendents being endangered..." She shrugged. "Some ghosts, _**very**_ few, manage to stay sane. Maybe not forever, but for years, possibly decades." She was clearly being careful not to sound optimistic.

"How?" Dean jumped on it anyway. "What do they do differently?"

"Could be a number of things. Staying away from the people they feel resentment for is a start. Bobby's doing everything he can to take out this Dick guy so..." She scrunched up her nose. "It doesn't bode well for him. Spirits seem to be able to hang onto their humanity longer if they find something else to focus on, something positive, but even so..." She shook her head, her shoulders slumping. "They're just not supposed to be here." She gestured towards the flask in Dean's lap. "That's his object, isn't it?"

Dean nodded.

"Well, you should destroy it. Let him go out as a good guy, as a hero."

Everything in Dean's gut was telling him she was right but he tucked the flask back into his pocket.

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

It was a five hour drive back to Marisol's house but the time passed quickly. Now that Marisol had dropped the hostile attitude, Dean found himself enjoying her company, even if she did scoff at his cassette collection, saying the only good rock was southern rock. At least she wasn't into Beyonce and Justin Timberlake. He could deal with CCR and Kid Rock. He began to think maybe Sam hadn't mistaken the girl from his tour in the future after all.

They arrived at her house, an older two-storey home in a rural area just outside Baton Rouge with no neighbors in sight. Dean hesitated for a nervous second before heading up the porch steps, taking a good look at the place. Was this the house he was going to raise his kids in? It matched Sam's description. He shook his head and followed her inside. This was weird, even for him. He felt like he was lying to her by not telling her the truth but "_we're going to raise a family together_" a day after meeting a chick was usually taken as stalker-type obsessive.

Marisol was exhausted and went to bed soon after they arrived. Dean checked the salt lines and the hex bags and added a couple of other tricks he had picked up over the years before settling himself in the armchair next to her bed with a shotgun in hand, despite her meek insistences it wasn't necessary. Underneath her bravado, he could tell she was scared and welcomed the added protection his presence provided. She was asleep within ten minutes.

Sam arrived a few hours later and Dean came downstairs to greet him.

"Where is she?" Sam asked, looking around as he came inside.

"Who, Haley Joel?" Dean chuckled at his own ongoing joke. "Upstairs sleeping. She's been through a lot the past couple of days. You should have... Dude, what's so funny?"

Sam shook his head, his shoulders shivering with subdued giggles. "Nothing. It's just, well, you're calling her Haley?"

Dean frowned. He used nicknames all the time and Sam never usually found them amusing. Why was he getting such a kick out of this one?

"So, you two together, in a car, for like five hours..." Sam led, giving Dean a questioning look. "Is she still giving you a hard time?"

"No," Dean answered honestly. "I think she's coming around." He grinned. "Succumbing to my charms. You know, like they all do eventually."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Poor girl."

"Well, did you find out what object this creep's tied to?" Dean changed the subject as the two moved into the living room.

"Uh, not exactly, but I think I might have a theory on who Bessy is. I mean, it's a little unorthodox but I think my theory has merit so try to keep an open mind..."

"Sam, just spill it."

The younger Winchester divulged everything he had found out at the private collector's house. The elderly lady's great grandfather had apparently died heroically at the Battle of Chickamauga and the research had been started by her father in his youth. She had hundreds of diaries and letters written by different soldiers from both sides of that battle, along with numerous photos and official record documents, inventory lists, requisition forms, even a copy of General Bragg's military log.

As it turned out, Private Hugh Lafferty was often referred to as 'Hugh Laugh-at-Me' by his fellow soldiers. He was assigned horse-tending detail and was generally thought of as strange and downright insane. He was punished more than once for mouthing off to General Bragg about the treatment of his horse, Bellefire Bess.

"A horse?" came Marisol's voice from the stairs. "He thinks I'm a horse?"

Sam shrugged. "That's my guess."

"That's crazy, even for a ghost." She didn't look convinced.

"Apparently this guy was crazy before he became a ghost."

"But he says things like we're meant to be together and we have to finish our journey."

Sam nodded. "He disappeared two days before the battle of Chickamauga, right?"

Marisol nodded.

"Well Bragg rode into that battle with a horse named Tennessee Tyrant because his regular horse, Bellfire Bess, was stolen by an unknown thief two days prior," Sam told them. He held up a finger and kept going before either of them could suggest a mere coincidence. "According to diaries and letters, Hugh Laugh-at-Me had been telling his fellow soldiers that he was going to take his beloved Bessy to some sacred Indian land he had heard legends about. Supposedly spirits of lovers who died together in this sacred place would be forever joined. They would, like, be reborn and then meet and, uh, fall in love again in their next lives, and their next ones, and so on."

There was a brief silence in a room full of raised eyebrows.

"Dude, you're saying the guy was in love with a horse?" Dean scoffed finally.

"Isn't that reaching a bit?" Marisol added.

Sam huffed, clearly annoyed they weren't agreeing with him. "Look, this lady was an avid historian. She was amused by the stories of this guy and she spent a couple of months researching it further. Turns out an unknown soldier was found dead four days after our guy took off with the horse. It was assumed he'd been bucked off and his neck was wrapped in the reins. He'd been dragged behind the horse for miles. Nobody paid it much notice because eighteen thousand Confederate soldiers had just died in the battle, but the collector thinks that was him."

"The ghost has a ropeburn ring around his neck!" Marisol told them, her eyes widening. "So he never finished his journey," she added, nodding slowly.

"And to kill you is the only way you two can be together," Dean conceded. "Wrong place, wrong person, wrong fricking _**species**_, but Hell, he's coo-coo for cocoa puffs so it's plausible."

"Right," Sam chimed in, his voice laced with that excited tone Dean recognized as the one the nerd got whenever he had just successfully finished some hard core researching.

Dean smiled. One of the things he loved about Sam. It would seem Lucifer had been taking it easy on the kid these past couple of days. "So what's our next move, geek boy?" he asked. "We still need to find the object tying him here."

Sam pulled his laptop out and opened it up on the table. "I say we either find Bessy or something of hers that he could be drawn to."

Dean groaned. "You were supposed to _**finish**_ the research, Sam."

"Dude, quit complaining," Sam chastised before turning to Marisol. "Looks like we're going to be up a while. You mind if I make some coffee?"

"Sure, go ahead," she shrugged, sitting down on the couch next to Dean and flipping open a well-worn notebook of names and phone numbers.

"What d'you got there?" Dean asked curiously.

"Historians, history teachers, census clerks, some cooperative policemen, some graveyard owners..." she explained. "I have to identify and find a lot of dead people to salt and burn and well," she gave him a sheepish look. "I don't like to ask hunters for help."

Dean nodded his understanding. "Sure. Your contacts. Could come in handy."

She was suddenly frowning in the direction of the kitchen, where Sam was moving around as if he was right at home, grabbing the coffee pouches from an end cupboard and the mugs from the rack around the corner, even going straight for the sugar in the middle of three identical containers on the counter.

"Either your brother's a psychic or you guys have been in my house before," she said, only sounding like she was half joking.

Dean scoffed, not wanting to scare her off with the unbelievable truth. "He's just at home in a kitchen," he lied. "You should see him in his apron. Used to say 'Kiss the Cook' but he burned the second half of the second 'o' off so now it says Kiss the..."

She laughed and relaxed and they got to work researching online and by phone, this time focusing on General Bragg and his horse Bellfire Bess.

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

They were still working the next morning when Dean threw down the history book he had been struggling through and got up for a stretch and a pee break. He was making his way across the hall to the bathroom when he saw Marisol by the front door, standing in shadow with her back to him. She was next to Dean's jacket, which was hanging on the coathook by the front door, and her hand was reaching inside it. He watched as she drew Bobby's flask out and stared at it for a long moment before hesitantly slipping it into the pocket of the hoodie she was wearing.

He almost walked forward and made his presence be known, taking the flask back from her, but found himself stopping and instead slinking back into the living room. He couldn't help but think that if she did what he thought she intended to do... it might be a good thing. He had long since learned his lesson that what's dead should stay dead. As much as he wanted Bobby around… Bobby was dead. Bobby should have crossed over. Every hunting experience he had ever had was screaming at him that Bobby being here wasn't going to end well, for them or for Bobby. Despite what Sam had seen in the future...

He spent the next two hours unable to concentrate on the research, his mind spinning instead, jumping back and forth on whether or not he should do something to stop Marisol from destroying that flask. But as close as he came on a number of occasions, he never spoke up.

Marisol finally had some success in their search for something to do with General Bragg's horse. A small bed & breakfast in nearby McComb had a small collection of civil war artifacts, one of which they claimed was the battle bridle worn by General Bragg's horse, Bellfire Bess. She beamed at the brothers as she told them the news. "It makes sense," she argued. "I was in McComb the day before the soldier first showed up here. That's too much of a coincidence to really be one."

"You sure you're not a hunter?" Dean grinned.

"I've probably done more salt and burns than you have, wise ass," she fired back. "I can research. I just stick to ghosts and spirits; no vampires pr ghouls or rawheads or other crazy crap you guys deal with."

They decided Marisol should stay here, in the relative safety of her house, and someone would stay with her while the other went to steal the bridle, since it was reportedly very definitely _**not**_ for sale. Sam quickly volunteered to go. Dean shook his head at the juvenile grin on his little brother's face but didn't argue. Truth be told, he liked seeing that childish grin, even if it was at his expense. With hallucinatory Lucifer stalking the guy twenty-four seven, Sam didn't manage to smile much anymore.

As he saw his brother out the door, Dean bit his lip, glancing apprehensively at his jacket still hanging on the rack. He brushed a hand purposefully against the side of it, where the hard bulk of Bobby's flask should have been, and was surprised to feel something there. He pulled the flap open and drew out the flask, an indecipherable emotion flooding into his chest.

She had put it back. She had changed her mind. Strange thing was, he couldn't decide if it was relief or disappointment he was feeling.

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

Sam had only been gone an hour when Hugh Laffarty made it past the house's defenses. Dean and Marisol were in the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch while watching the season finale of The Walking Dead. Dean had pointed out the numerous factual inaccuracies of dealing with zombies and wondered aloud who the chick that played Maggie Greene was because damn, she looked really familiar.

Marisol suddenly jerked, gasped, and grabbed for one of the shotguns at her side. Dean reacted quickly, snatching up his own shotgun and reminding her to point so he knew where to aim. She fired off three rounds in the direction of the TV as she climbed over the back of the couch before yelling "At the end of the coffee table!"

Dean fired quickly and continuously until she finally held up her hand to let him know the coast was clear. "He's gone, he's gone," she breathed, looking around warily. Her wild eyes finally rested on Dean. "Crap, he's figured out how to get past those extra wards you put up. He'll be back."

"Don't worry," Dean assured her, moving quickly to reload his shotgun. "He won't touch you."

"That took ten or eleven salt rounds this time," she said despairingly. "He's getting angrier and it's making him stronger."

"Sam'll be burning that bridle inside a half an hour," Dean said confidently. "He won't make it back by then."

He was wrong. Hugh Laffarty showed up less than fifteen minutes later, coming at the girl on the couch from behind this time, wrapping what Dean guessed was an arm around her neck and squeezing as he tried to drag her up and over the back cushion. The brunette reacted violently, kicking and struggling frantically to get away, clawing at her neck.

Again, Dean was on it in a flash. Shotgun still in his hands, he jumped up and blasted six rounds point blank right over Marisol's head. She dropped down, gasping and quickly scrambled off the couch, tumbling to the floor in front of the coffee table by the hunter's feet. Dean lost track of where to fire and gave her a questioning look as he waved the barrel of the shotgun in the air in front of him.

"Behind you!" she cried, her voice hoarse as she pointed suddenly but Dean didn't get turned around in time. He felt a force hit his back and was propelled over the couch to crash down onto the hardwood floor beyond. He was struggling to catch his breath enough to make it to his feet, worried what state he was going to find Marisol in when he could see her, when he heard more shotgun blasts.

He pulled himself up using the couch as leverage and peered over to see Marisol on her back on the ground, firing up into the air above her. She let out a sharp cry and covered her head but quickly relaxed, breathing out an audible sigh of relief. "Dean!" she rasped, her worried eyes searching him out. "He's gone. You okay?"

He nodded, making his way stiffly around the couch to help her to her feet. He didn't let go of her hand when she was standing next to him, instead choosing to keep her close. "He's recuperating quicker," he pointed out with a frown.

She nodded. "He's more determined than before. I'm thinking when my heart stopped yesterday, maybe he got a taste of me dead or something... like on the other side of the veil?"

Dean nodded. "Makes sense. Stubborn son of a bitch will be back soon enough." He used his free hand to call Sam, still not letting go of Marisol. "Dude. He's in. How much longer?"

"_I'm about ten minutes out of McComb,_" Sam answered. "_Then I still have to break in and steal the thing. You going to be able to hold him off?_"

Dean curled his lip at the news. "Better make it a smash and dash. He's a persistent bastard." He hung up and turned to Marisol. "We need to hold out another fifteen or twenty minutes," he told her. "You up for it?"

She groaned but nodded. "Do I have a choice?"

He laughed and let go of her hand. "Let's reload."

"You sure we have enough ammo?"

He grabbed his duffel off the floor and dumped it on the table with a heavy thud. "Trust me, I stock up," he grinned.

They got to work, fully loading five shotguns and placing them on the coffee table next to where they were standing. Neither wanted to sit down, preferring to stay alert and ready and on their feet. They stood side by side for fifteen nervous minutes, during which Dean noticed Marisol had at some point hooked her fingers around his arm and left them there.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if I could see the bastard too," Dean grumbled, glancing around them warily.

Marisol gasped and turned to face him.

"What?" he demanded anxiously. "He here?"

"No, but there's a spell."

"A spell?"

"Yeah. It's dark magic and my mother always forbid me to go near that stuff but..."

"What does it do?"

She gave him a sheepish look. "Some ghosts can be seen from time to time, mostly when they're angry or attacking, but others can't. This spell makes them all visible for a few minutes. To people like you, I mean. Normal people."

Dean managed a chuckle. "You're calling me normal?" He returned his focus to the current problem. "How easy is this spell to do?"

She shrugged. "Not all that hard. Bad juju though so I've never done it but I saw my mom do it once. She's got it written in her old diary. I think it's up in her old bedroom."

She started heading towards the stairs but before Dean could stop her, she went flying sideways, slamming into the wall by the kitchen doorway.

"Mari...!" he yelled before he too was hurtled through the air. He hit the large living room window and sailed right through it, shards slicing at him and falling on him when he hit the porch outside. Panic shot through him even faster than the pain did when he realized Marisol was now inside, alone with the soldier. He scrambled to his feet and staggered to the front door, calling her name repeatedly. He made it back inside to find her running, making a mad dash for the shotguns lined up on the table. She had almost reached them when she was jerked backwards and tossed violently onto the couch. She never stopped struggling but soon her head tipped back and she was screaming again, clutching at the air above her heart.

Dean lunged for the first shotgun, blasting away continuously at every square inch of empty space around her. He emptied the first weapon and snatched up the second without ever missing a beat in his steady stream of salt rounds. "Marisol!" he yelled in worry.

Finally she let out a breathless cry of relief. Her mouth moved but no words came out, her chest heaving and a wince of extreme pain still twisting her pretty features. Dean rushed over but just as he was almost there, she lifted a hand and pointed to the space next to him, still unable to speak. Next thing he knew he was on the floor again, a spike of pain shooting up his back and black blotches threatening to take over his field of vision. All he could make out was Marisol being shoved back into the couch again, her breath being sucked away once more by her unseen attacker.

_No, no, no,_ was all he could think. _He'd lost enough._

It took every ounce of reserve strength he had in him to focus enough to grab the next shotgun in line from the coffee table. He hadn't even fired off a round, however, when a flash of flame sprang up in the air in front of Marisol and the outline of a man appeared, screaming and writhing in pain as the fire consumed him.

Dean recognized a ghost being ganked when he saw one.

"Yes!" he hissed, feeling a sudden urge to give the air a fist pump. He would have, too, if he hadn't been so worried about Marisol, who was still lying sputtering on the couch. "Hey, you okay?" he demanded, making it to his knees on the floor in front of her. "Marisol?"

"I'm okay," she rasped, letting him help her to an upright seated position. She looked so shaken and scared that he pulled her into a hug without even thinking. She returned it immediately, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder, breathing heavily into his neck.

"He's dead this time," he assured her.

She just nodded, not letting go. "Good riddance," she mumbled.

Dean's phone interrupted the moment by belting out Deep Purple from his pocket. He withdrew to pull it out and answered it with a grin.

"Cutting it kinda close, Sammy."

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

They left as soon as Sam got back. After all, they had a Leviathan headquarters to break into, an archeological dig site location to find, a tablet written by God to intercept then interpret, and finally, they had Dick to kill.

Dean found himself alone with Marisol in the kitchen as Sam loaded their weapons duffel into the car. He cleared his throat, glancing warily around the room. "Uh, is Bobby here?"

She shook her head. "Not at the moment."

"Listen, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Of course. Anything."

He grimaced at what he was about to ask. "Can Bobby stay here?" he blurted. "With you?"

She gasped. "What? You want me to let one stay in my house?"

"I know, I know, it's just... well, he's different than the others. And if there's even a small chance he can stay sane through this then…"

"Do you have any idea what you're asking? Every part of me thinks this is a bad idea."

He sighed and leaned back against the counter. "I know that. I know and I'm sorry. But Marisol, I've lost pretty much everything recently and Bobby, well he was like a father to me. I've thought a lot about this and honestly, half of Bobby is better than no Bobby."

Her expression softened. "I guess he did save my life a couple of times," she admitted. "I do owe him." Dean could tell she was still apprehensive.

"I've got good reason to think Bobby's one of the few who can keep it together," he pressed, not elaborating on how he knew this. "And if he goes crazy or tries to hurt you, I swear, I'll torch the flask myself," he added. "But he won't."

She bit her lip, giving him a long, hard look before nodding. "Okay," she said quietly. "He can stay with me 'til you're done."

Dean let out a deep exhale. "Thank-you," he said. "Thank-you. Now I have another favor to ask."

"No, you can't have my Roberta Flack CD," she quipped.

He rolled his eyes. "Thank God for that. No, I was wondering if you could do that spell you mentioned so we could see Bobby for a few minutes? So we could hear him? I'd like to talk to him. Sam and me. Alone, if that's okay."

She nodded. "Sure. I'll go get the stuff."

A few minutes later she was lighting some smelly stuff in a bowl and chanting a few words from a book. "Okay," she said, pointing behind them. "It'll only give you a few minutes so you have to be quick."

She went outside to wait on the porch and Sam and Dean turned around to see Bobby standing in the entrance to the kitchen.

"Bobby," Dean stepped forward quickly to pull his old friend into a hug but his hand slipped right through him.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "You can see me and hear me but I'm still Casper, idjit."

"Well it's good to see you," Dean rasped, his voice a little hoarse with emotion.

"Yeah, Bobby, we've missed you," Sam added, stepping up to stand next to Dean.

"Well, don't go gettin' all teary-eyed boys," Bobby groused through a lopsided smile. "We ain't got all day. You got the facts straight for the plan to ice Dick? We may not have a lotta time."

"Uh, about that," Dean began. "This is where you get off, Bobby."

"Come again?"

"I mean, you need to stop going after Dick. You're a vengeful spirit, man. You'll go vengeful a lot quicker if you keep this revenge thing up. You need to stay here."

"Hell no!"

"You don't understand," Dean pressed. "You could have a future. At least for a while. A long while maybe, depending on how you play your cards."

Sam stepped in, explaining what he had seen in his vision of the future at the witch's house in the swamp. "So you see, Marisol is Dean's chance for a future," he finished.

Dean shuffled a bit uncomfortably at his brother's melodramatic summary but nodded and went along with it. "Bobby, for the first time for as long as I can remember, I want to end this for something other than revenge. I'm not just going through the motions anymore. I got something to look forward to. But see, you're part of that future so… if you wanna see my kids call you grandpa, you need to focus on something other than Dick. So stay here. Please. Stop obsessing over Dick Roman - or you _**will**_ turn vengeful and we _**will**_ have to burn this." He held up the flask.

Sam joined in the dialed-up effort. "Focus on Marisol instead, Bobby, on keeping malevolent ghosts like Hugh Laffarty away. On doing something _**good**_. That's your only chance at beating this."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, keep her safe for me so I can have something to come back to when this is over, okay?" He knew his plea would work. He had never doubted Bobby's love for him. Bobby would never deny Dean a heartfelt request like that.

He was right. Bobby nodded, tugging at his trucker's cap and scowling. "Oh, balls. Of course I'll do it," he grumbled. "How can I say no to that? If there was ever anything worth my undivided attention, it's a good future for you boys."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said lifting a hand to touch his friend but stopping and just tapping air awkwardly when he remembered that the man standing before him wasn't corporeal.

They joined Marisol on the porch a couple of minutes later. Sam gave her a hug and she thanked him for the twentieth time. "You're pretty smart, putting that horse thing together like that," she acknowledged.

Bobby grinned. "Kid scored a one seventy-four on his LSAT's," he bragged, sounding every bit the boastful father.

Sam threw Bobby a warm smile and a lingering look before turning to make his way down the steps to the car. Bobby returned the smile with a wistful sigh and started to follow the younger Winchester down the walk.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Dean questioned, trying to make his tone sound joking.

The ghost rolled his eyes at him. "I'm just seein' you dimwits off," he groused, stopping at the end of the walk as Sam continued on to the car.

Dean pulled the flask from his jacket and handed it to Marisol. "Well, just to be sure," he said, loud enough so Bobby could hear him. "Hide it," he whispered to the brunette.

She took the flask gingerly, flashing a guilty look at the ghost on her front lawn and nodding.

"Well, I gotta get going," Dean said, opening his arms to give her a hug also.

"Bye, Dean," she said in his ear as she stepped into it, giving him a light squeeze. "Thanks for everything."

As he pulled away he hesitated, leaning in suddenly and giving her a firm kiss on the lips. It was a quick kiss, a chaste one even, but he felt her surprised sharp intake of breath against his mouth. He let his hands rest on her upper arms as he pulled back, smirking at the pink hue seeping into her cheeks. "So, you don't mind if we stop by from time to time to see how Bobby's doing?" he asked casually.

A loud snort came from the steps as Bobby made his way back up to them. "I ain't a dog yer leavin' at the kennels!"

Marisol laughed, grinning at her new houseguest before turning back to Dean. "You're always welcome here," she said sincerely. "Go save the world. I'll see you when you're done."

Dean smiled and sauntered down the walk, ignoring Bobby's rolling eyes and Sam's cheeky grin. He climbed in behind the wheel of the stolen Chrysler and started her up, pulling away slowly. Glancing in his rear view, he saw Marisol standing on her porch next to a fading but still visible Bobby, both giving the hunters a wave goodbye. Yes, he thought, he wanted this. He had all but given up on this dream but _**damn**_, now he wanted this.

He suddenly felt as if he'd been dragged back into the land of the living, like a splash of color had been injected back into his world, a world that had become empty, grey, and barren since losing almost everyone he loved. He had never had more incentive to kill Dick and end this once and for all, only this time he was going into the battle armed with something he hadn't had two days ago.

_**Hope. **_

A pretty powerful weapon, he reckoned.

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

_**Author's note:**__ So that's the end of this tale. Hope you liked it enough to review :-)_


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